V7T3 
few 

I63S 


UC-NRLF 


5 


3   315    51 


A    FEW  WORDS    ON 
ROBERT   BROWNING 


LEON    H    VINCENT 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/fewwordsonrobertOOvincrich 


•S»^  Js, 


^.^    V>%X.^^^%    ^^\^v.^S^v^V>^\'^^ 


A  FEW  WORDS   ON 
ROBERT  BROWNING 


A  FEW  WORDS  ON 
ROBERT  BROWNING 


BY 

LEON   H   VINCENT 


PHILADELPHIA 
ARNOLD   AND   COMPANY 

1895 


Copyright  1890  by  Leon  H  Vinxent 


\^^ 


^"-'^' 
p 

K 


Second  Edition 


To 
JESSIE  THOMAS  VINCENT 


iv;i8(]913 


CONTENTS 

I  How  not  to  read  Browning 

II  Obscurity  Again 

III  The  Verdict  of  the  Critical 

IV  A  Glimpse  of  the  Poet 
V  Conclusion 


How  Not  to  Read  Browning 

THAT  curious  phenomenon  of  an 
intellectual  sort  commonly  and 
irreverently  known  as  the  Browning  craze 
reached  its  climax  just  before  the  death 
of  the  distinguished  poet  whose  writings 
were  the  innocent  cause  of  it  all.  It  had 
an  exceedingly  grotesque  side.  As  a 
man  of  humor,  Browning  must  have 
enjoyed  the  oddities  of  what  was  in  large 
degree  a  fashionable  interest  in  his  poetry. 
It  is  even  possible  that  his  worshippers 
were  aware  of  the  fact  that  they  were 
contributing  to  his  amusement.  There 
was  room  for  a  suspicion  that  the  genial, 
bluff,  unpretentious  man  might  be  in- 
wardly laughing  at  the  extraordinary 
genuflections  and  prostrations  of  his 
devotees.  He  gave  no  outward  sign  of 
this  inward  laughter,  but  the  thought  of 


8  B  3Fe\v  THIlorDs 

its  possible    existence   must   have  been 
disquieting. 

Perhaps  the  simplest  form  which  the 
adoration  of  Browning  took  was  an 
unqualified  assertion  of  the  high  merit 
of  his  poetry,  with  a  generous  use  of 
superlatives.  It  is  a  method  which,  if 
it  does  not  antagonize,  carries  an  enor- 
mous weight  of  conviction.  Browning, 
himself,  knew  how  to  praise.  He  could 
speak  of  Tennyson  as  one  who  in  poetry 
was  '  illustrious  and  consummate,'  and 
this  was  praise  fittingly  bestowed.  But 
many  of  Browning's  friends  were  posi- 
tively intemperate  in  their  use  of  admir- 
ing epithets.  Mr.  Kingsland  entitled  a 
pleasant  Httle  book  '  Robert  Browning, 
Chief  Poet  of  the  Age.'  This  is  an 
illustration  of  the  debauch  of  eulogistic 
phrases  in  which  many  of  the  poet's 
friends  indulged  themselves.  Frederick 
Gard  Fleay  dedicated  a  book  to  Brown- 
ing as  '  the  Shakespeare  of  our  days' ; 
but  he  had  previously  dedicated  a  book 


on  IRobcrt  JBrownlng  9 

to  Tennyson  as  '  the  greatest  poet  of  his 
time.'  Adapting  a  remark  of  a  dis- 
tinguished English  critic,  •  Mr.  Fleay 
may,  if  he  ever  meets  them,  feel  quite  at 
ease  both  with  the  shade  of  Browning 
and  with  the  shade  of  Tennyson.' 

Another  and  more  subtile  form  of 
worship  found  expression  in  the  making 
of  elaborate  and  sometimes  profound 
commentaries  on  Browning's  poetry. 
These  were  not  mere  book-reviews, 
which  examine  the  credentials  of  an 
author  with  a  view  to  determining 
whether  his  writings  belong  to  perma- 
manent  or  ephemeral  literature ;  they 
were  careful  studies,  which,  for  the  most 
part,  assumed  that  all  of  Browning's 
work  had  become  an  inalienable  part  of 
English  letters.  Many  essays  and  books 
of  this  sort  appeared  while  the  poet  was 
yet  living,  and  there  was  unusual  activity 
just  after  his  death.  These  critical  works 
are  now  so  numerous  that  they  consti- 
tute a  library  of  respectable  size. 


10  B  jfew  "CaorDs 

Such  past  and  continued  fertilit}'  on 
the  part  of  the  pundits  suggests  the 
thought  that  many  people,  instead  of 
being  attracted  to  Browning,  are,  and 
are  going  to  be,  repelled  by  the  appear- 
ance of  so  much  critical  and  interpreta- 
tiv'e  literature ;  and  that,  while  the  con- 
dition of  the  thinking  few  is  becoming 
better,  the  condition  of  the  unconverted 
many  is  becoming  worse ;  and  that, 
instead  of  popularizing  Browning,  these 
books  are  exerting  a  pernicious  influ- 
ence in  tending  to  make  him  more  and 
more  the  poet  of  a  clique.  His  admirers 
can  hardly  do  other  than  lament  that 
he  has  to  so  great  a  degree  been  handed 
over  to  experts. 

Most  amusing  notions  prevail  with 
respect  to  his  poetry.  The  difficulties 
which  lie  in  the  path  of  one  who  desires 
to  understand  it  are  popularly  thought  to 
be  enormous.  The  following  extract  from 
a  letter  will  illustrate  a  not  uncommon 
phase  of  the  prevailing  misconception  : 


on  TRobert  JGrownlng  u 

'  Dear .     ...    I  remember 

*  that  you  are  what  is  satirically  described 
*in  this  family  as  a  "  Browningite." 
'  You  will  rejoice  to  know  that,  after 
'  some  years  of  railing  at  your  pet  poet,  I 

*  have  determined  to  take  up  the  study 
'  of  his  works.  Send  me  a  list  of  intro- 
'  ductions  and  helps  for  the  beginner.  I 
'have  Mrs.  Orr's  Handbook,  but  I  want 
'  a  half  dozen  volumes  in  addition.  I 
'propose  to  be  well  fortified  for  this 
'  undertaking.' 

How  utterly  mistaken  is  this  idea  of 

*  fortifying  '  oneself  for  a  study  of  Brown- 
ing ;  and  yet,  after  all,  how  entirely 
natural  in  the  light  of  the  critical  litera- 
ture which  has  sprung  up.  The  man 
who  gets  together  a  quantity  of  introduc- 
tory essays,  and  worries  over  them  before 
he  reads  the  living  words  of  the  poet,  is 
not  unlike  the  man  who  prepares  himself 
for  a  climb  in  the  Alps  by  strapping  on 
his  back  all  the  luggage  he  can  possibly 
carry.       Surely,   the    only    introduction 


12  B  3few  ^Mor^s 

needed  to  Browning  is  Browning.  If  he 
did  not  intend  his  poetry  to  be  a  substi- 
tute for  a  game  of  dominoes  or  an  after- 
dinner  cigar,  Browning  probably  as  little 
dreamed  of  a  time  when  that  poetry 
would  be  thought  to  need  prolegomena 
and  an  introductory  dissertation  on  his 
use  of  English.  The  shortest  way  with 
beginners  is  to  turn  them  loose  with 
copies  of  the  '  selections '  made  by 
Browning  himself,  and  let  them  find  out 
the  things  they  ought  to  know. 

Browning  is  getting  encrusted  with 
this  parasitical  literature,  not  a  little  of 
which  seems  to  assume  that  the  reader 
is  incapable  of  taking  a  single  step  by 
himself.  More  than  that,  the  commen- 
tators have  begun  to  prey  upon  one 
another.  It  makes  one  think  of  certain 
pages  in  the  Verheyk  Eutropius,  where 
there  will  be  one  pica  line  of  text,  and 
ninety  brevier  lines  of  comment,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  variae  Icctiones,  and  the 
notes  on  notes.     In  like  fashion  we  have 


on  "Kobctt  JGrownino  13 

first  Browning  ;  then  Corson  on  Brown- 
ing ;  then  Nettleship  on  Corson  on 
Browning ;  and  presently  there  will  be 
somebody  on  Nettleship — at  which  junc- 
ture the  simple-minded  reader  may  be  ex- 
pected to  throw  his  Browning  and  intro- 
duction together  into  the  waste  places  of 
his  library',  and  betake  himself  to  the 
Psalm  of  Life  and  the  Bab  Ballads, 
within  the  charmed  circle  of  which  verse 
the  commentator  hath  no  power  to  annoy. 
No  disrespectful  thought  of  com- 
mentators is  implied  in  these  words. 
Some  of  their  productions  are  magnifi- 
cently virile  and  thought-producing.  It 
is  impossible  not  to  buy  these  books. 
One  cannot  help  putting  them  in  a  con- 
spicuous place  on  his  shelves.  They 
have  a  tremendously  intellectual  look. 
They  promise  all  sorts  of  mental  pleas- 
ure. A  satisfaction  is  to  be  had  in  them 
akin  to  that  which  Bagehot  professed  to 
have  in  his  volumes  of  Gibbon,  not  by 
reading  them,  but  by  looking  at  them 


14  B  3few  "QGlorOs 

from  outside,  in  the  bookcase,  and  think- 
ing how  much  there  is  within.  For  the 
reader  may  well  hesitate  before  begin- 
ning a  certain  stout  buckram-clad  tome 
containing  nearly  five  hundred  pages 
of  intelligent  criticism,  all  devoted  to 
Browning's  poetry,  while  he  puts  the 
question  whether  the  time  needed  for 
the  reading  of  these  five  hundred  pages 
will  not  be  better  spent  in  reading 
as  many  pages  of  Browning  himself. 
Why  should  a  man  wish  to  know  what 
the  critic  says  of  Pippa  Passes  if  this 
beautiful  play  is  still  beautiful  to  him,  and 
he  feels  that  he  has  not  got  out  of  it  all 
that  he  can  without  the  help  of  note 
or  introductory  essay  ?  The  most  sug- 
gestive sentence  of  the  greatest  of  critics 
is  of  less  value  to  a  reader  than  that  idea 
which  becomes  his  through  actual  con- 
tact with  a  poetical  work. 

There  is  nothing  new  in  this  doctrine. 
It  has  been  enunciated  again  and  again, 


on  IRobert  :fi3rownlnfl  15 

but  it  may  be  of  use   to   some   one  if  it 
shall  here  find  a  new  application. 

All  great  imaginative  works  have 
given  rise  to  this  literature  of  literature. 
Sometimes  the  secondary  literature  busies 
itself  with  the  text  of  an  author,  some- 
times with  his  form  and  spirit,  sometimes 
with  both.  This  critical  literature  is 
intensely  fascinating.  These  books  are 
so  well  done  that  they  are  accepted  as 
ends  in  themselves.  In  fact,  they  are  apt 
to  be  too  well  done.  Where  they  reveal 
an  interesting  personality  in  the  critic 
their  seductiveness  is  increased.  They 
dazzle  by  their  brilUancy  and  wit,  or 
startle  by  paradox,  or  cause  a  feeling  of 
pleasure  from  the  justness  of  the  critical 
estimate.  There  is  every  possible  excuse 
for  reading  them.  The  man  is  but 
human  who  is  inclined  to  think  Lowell 
on  Wordsworth  more  interesting  than 
Wordsworth  ;  who  will  read  what 
Churton  Collins  has  to  say  about 
Dryden,  though  the  Absolom  and  Achito- 


16  B  ^ew  Moros 

p/ie/  and  the  Hind  a?id  tlie  Pantlier  make 
a  heavy  strain  upon  his  patience  ;  who 
can  be  charmed  with  Leslie  Stephen's 
essay  on  Richardson  while  he  naturally 
shrinks  from  twenty-five  hundred  pages 
of  Clarissa  Harlowe. 

It  is  a  misfortune  that  people  have 
fallen  into  the  habit  of  always  using 
the  word  '  study  '  in  connection  with 
Browning.  There  is  too  much  time 
spent  in  formally  studying  the  great 
poets,  and  too  little  time  spent  in  reading 
them.  It  is  a  commonplace  of  literary 
criticism  that  one  should  never  '  study  ' 
a  play  of  Shakespeare  until  he  has  read 
it  at  least  a  dozen  times.  We  ought  to 
read  the  comedies  as  we  read  Pickwick 
Papers, — for  the  story  ;  the  tragedies  as 
we  read  the  Ordeal  of  Richard  Feverel, 
for  the  story  ;  the  histories  as  we  read 
— well,  Mr.  Froude's  England — for  the 
story.  Then  will  it  be  time  to  study  the 
text,  and  learn  what  the  different  critics 
think  of   Hamlet.     This    is     a    favorite 


\ 

on  "Robert  SSrownltifl  17 

theory  of  that  brilliant  scholar,  Richard 
Grant  White.  What  he  says  in  his 
Studies  in  Shakespeare  will  apply  equally 
well  to  Browning.  To  be  sure,  Richard 
Grant  White,  being  Richard  Grant  White, 
is  always  radical.  He  says  :  '  Throw  the 
commentators  and  editors  to  the  dogs,' 
— a  sentence  worth  considering,  since  it 
comes  from  the  pen  of  one  of  the  best 
of  Shakespeare's  editors.  We  may  not 
care  to  go  this  length  with  him,  but  may 
cry  a  hearty  '  Amen '  when  he  urges  the 
importance  of  keeping  the  mind  '  entirely 
free  from  the  influence  of  what  the 
various  eminent  critics  have  had  to  say.' 
After  a  thorough  reading  of  the  best 
plays  of  Shakespeare,  there  will  come,  as 
he  has  shown,  the  suitable  moment  for 
taking  up  the  minutiae  of  textual  and 
aesthetic  criticism.  So,  too,  after  a  care- 
ful and  thoughtful  reading  of  the  more 
important  poems  of  Robert  Browning,  it 
is  well  enough,  and  even  of  great  advan- 
tage,   to    study    Corson    and    Symons, 


18  B  3few  Traor^s 

Fotheringham  and  Nettleship,  Furnivall, 
Henry  Jones,  and  the  essays  published 
in  the  Browning  Society's  papers. 

This  higher  criticism  undoubtedly 
frightens  timid  readers  away.  A  glance 
into  one  of  these  learned  studies  reveals 
rather  formidable  expressions.  The 
critics  love  to  talk  about  '  centripetal  and 
centrifugal  forces,'  about  '  a  universal  and 
harmonizing  synthesis.'  One  of  them 
brackets  Hegel  and  Browning  and  says 
'  Knowledge  (thought)  tends  to  integrate 
Love  (being),  which  Power  had  dif- 
ferentiated, and  it  is  ever  bringing  back 
the  manifold  centrifugal  productions  of 
Power  to  the  centrality  of  Love,  and  thus 
progressing  in  the  realization  of  a  unity 
in  which  Power,  and  the  accompanying 
Falsehood  and  Evil,  will  be  a  suspended 
moment.'  Will  not  the  plain  reader  be 
inclined  to  lift  up  hands  and  eyes  in 
reverent  astonishment,  and  to  exclaim 
'  Great  is  Browning  ;  what  must  the  poem 
be  if  this  be  the  explanation !' 


on  "Kobcrt  SJrownlno  19 

In  brief  the  way  riot  to  read  Brown- 
ing is  by  means  of  the  commentary  and 
the  annotation.  One  should  naturally 
begin  with  the  simpler  poems.  He  who 
begins  with  Sordello  is  not  likely  to  make 
great  progress.'  Let  the  non-reader 
beware  of  getting  his  introduction  to 
Browning  through  Sordello!  That  poem 
may  wait  until  the  last.  Then  it  may 
wait  a  little  longer ;  for  the  time  that  is 
needed  to  extract  poetic  gold  from  the 
ore  of  Sordello  may  be  put  to  better  use 
on  the  Ring  and  the  Book. 

The  simpler  poems  first.  Let  the 
beginner  read  that  '  pretty  tale  '  entitled 
A  Tale.  Let  him  read  the  Boy  a?id  the 
Angel,  Prospice,  Apparitions,  A  Face,  My 
Last  Duchess,  Confessions.  Then  those 
noble  poems,  Satd,  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra,  The 
Epistle  of  Karshisk.     If  he  has  read  this 

iln  1867  it  was  customary  to  speak  of  "Sordello"  as 
being  wholly  unintelligible  ;  and  although  it  may  now  be  con- 
sidered more  correct  to  speak  of  it  as  a  model  of  lucidity.  I 
have  a  suspicion  that  many  people  still  find  it  hard  to  under- 
stand. — Edward  Dowdbn. 


20  B  3few  TSflorOs 

much,  some  of  Browning's  grostesques 
will  not  come  amiss,  such  as  Holy  Cross 
Day,  A  Heretic's  Tragedy,  Caliban  upon 
Setebos.  The  poems  which  concern 
themselves  with  music  and  art  are  splen- 
did illustrations  of  Browning's  power, 
Abt  Vogler,  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Fra  Lippo 
Lippi.  Browning  wrote  dramas,  too,  and 
one  may  venture  the  statement  that  those 
hours  will  be  happy  ones  which  are  given 
to  the  reading  of  Colombc's  Birthday, 
Pippa  Passes,  A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon. 
These  ought  to  be  more  than  enough  to 
make  a  convert,  not  necessarily  to  the 
belief  that  Browning  is  a  star  of  the  first 
magnitude  in  a  constellation  which  in- 
cludes Chaucer,  Rabelais,  Shakespeare 
and  Goethe,  but  to  the  reasonable  belief 
that  he  is  one  of  the  most  stimulating 
and  inspiring  authors  of  his  day,  a  man 
whose  verse  '  swells  resolve,  breeds 
hardihood  '  and  is,  in  truth,  '  stuff  for 
strength.'  This  is  all  that  is  asked,  that 
there  shall  be  increase  in  the  number  of 


on  TRobert  asrownlna  21 

people  who  read  his  books  for  pleasure 
and  inspiration.  Of  *  Browningites  '  and 
specialists,  who  make  a  religion  and  a 
mystery  of  the  study  of  his  works,  we 
are  likely  to  have  too  many  rather  than 
too  few. 


22  a  jpew  TimorDs 

II 

Obscurity  Again 

MUCH  of  Browning's  poetry  seems 
obscure  because  it  is  obscure ; 
nevertheless  it  is  rather  pleasant  to  hear 
this  charge  of  obscurity  brought  against 
his  verse  by  people  who  do  not  read  it. 
There  is  a  naive  humor  in  the  accusation. 
It  illustrates  the  fact  that  a  large  part  of 
the  world  is  still  quite  content  to  take  its 
views  from  sources  outside  itself,  is  satis- 
fied merely  to  echo  the  opinions  of 
others. 

Slang  is  prevalent  largely  because 
people  are  too  lazy  to  think,  or  rather,  to 
do  that  part  of  thinking  which  consists 
in  finding  appropriate  words  for  such 
thoughts  as  they  have.  The  youth  who 
expresses  his  positive  admiration  by  call- 
ing the  thing  he  likes  a  '  Dandy  ';  and  his 


en  IRobcrt  S3ro\vnino  23 

superlative  delight  by  the  even  more  start- 
ling phrase  a  'Jim  Dandy,'  is  quite  as 
much  a  sinner  through  indolence  as  vul- 
garity. It  is  partly  from  laziness  that 
people  say  Browning  is  obscure.  At  any 
rate  the  charge  of  incomprehensibility, 
coming  from  persons  who  do  not  read 
him  at  all,  is  only  a  joke,  and  may  be 
treated  as  such. 

But  if  the  charge  of  obscurity  comes 
from  people  who  do  not  read  a  great 
deal  of  poetr>%  it  is  hardly  a  serious 
charge.  When  a  man  says  that  he  can't 
understand  Browning,  and  it  turns  out 
that  he,  at  best,  never  reads  much  poetry, 
that  he  hasn't  read  two  pla}'s  of  Shake- 
speare in  eighteen  months,  that  he  hasn't 
looked  into  Paradise  Lost  since  he  used 
to  hunt  through  it  for  rhetorical  figures 
in  college,  that  he  never  has  read  the 
Adonais  or  the  E7idy}nion,  and  that  he 
knows  nothing  at  all  of  Rossetti — in  short, 
that  he  has  taken  up  Browning  only 
because  it  is  the  fashion,  there  is  no  occa- 


24  B  3fcw  TimorOs 

sion  for  surprise  that  he  finds  his  task 
difficult.  To  understand  poetry  one  must 
be  in  the  habit  of  reading  poetry.  Poetiy, 
to  be  enjoyed,  must  be  one's  daily  bread, 
not  an  occasional  indulgence  as  in  a 
highly-seasoned  gastronomic  puzzle 
which  isn't  exactly  palatable  and  the 
digestion  of  which  is  not  to  be  compassed 
without  a  violent  effort.  Poetry  demands 
much  of  the  reader  who  would  enjoy  it.  A 
sort  of  'technique'  is  required  for  the  com- 
prehension of  good  poetry  as  for  the 
playing  of  the  piano  or  the  violin  ;  and 
the  person  who  runs  over  the  pages  of 
the  great  poetical  masters  only  at  long 
intervals  will  have  but  a  poor  '  technique.' 
The  charge  of  obscurity  coming  from 
people  who  have  taken  up  Browning 
only  as  they  would  take  up  any  other 
fad,  need  not  disturb  admirers  of  the 
poet. 

But  the  charge  comes  from  yet  another 
class  of  readers,  those  who  do  continually 
familiarize  themselves  with  what  is  best 


on  IRcbert  :Kro\vning  25 

worth  knowing  in  the  world  of  books  ; 
and  who  have  no  foolish  prejudices 
against  a  genius  of  marked  originality, 
but  are  willing  to  take  him  for  what  he 
is  worth  and  to  make  the  most  of  what 
he  has  to  give.  These  people  say  that 
Browning  is  obscure.  The  advice  given 
in  the  introduction  to  the  Browning  Bibli- 
ography is  to  the  effect  that  earnest 
students  of  the  poet  should  look  for  the 
short-comings  in  themselves  rather  than 
in  their  master.  If  the  shortcomings  are 
in  the  readers,  it  follows  that  many  a 
so-called  obscurity  is  not  an  obscurity  at 
all,  or  at  best  a  pseudo-obscurity. 

Two  sorts  of  difficulties  are  to  be  met 
with  in  Robert  Browning's  poetry,  which, 
it  seems,  may  be  referred  directly  to  the 
readers.     They  are  : — 

I.  Difficulties  arising  from  recondite 
allusions. 

II.  Difficulties  arising  from  the  pro- 
fundity of  the  subject. 

Take  the  first,  the  seeming  obscurity 


26  B  3fe\v  TMorDs 

arising  from  the  use  of  many  recondite 
allusions.  Browning  was  a  wide  reader, 
a  profound  scholar,  and  also  thoroughly- 
versed  in  that  knowledge  which  comes 
by  constant  intercourse  with  men  in  their 
various  conditions.  He  was  at  the  same 
time  a  bookworm,  and  a  man  of  the 
world  ;  a  denizen  of  libraries,  and  a  keen- 
eyed  observer  of  the  ways  of  the  human 
animal.  He  was  a  '  lover  of  populous 
pavements,'  and  he  recognized  the  virtue 
of  an  occasional  residence  '  far  from  the 
clank  of  crowds.'  He  knew  many  lan- 
guages and  many  literatures.  He  under- 
stood music  and  art,  philosophy  and  his- 
tory. He  lived  much  in  the  past  and 
much  in  the  present.  There  are  to  be 
found  in  his  poems  allusions  to  scenes, 
incidents  and  characters,  with  which 
many  a  reader  is  not  acquainted.  But 
these  things  are  all  the  legitimate  sub- 
stance of  poetry  according  to  Browning's 
theory,  and  if  he  saw  fit  to  use  them  the 
reader  must  take  his  point  of  view.     If 


on  "Kobert  asrownlng  27 

we  do  not  understand  his  allusions  the 
fault  is  not  his.  He  is  under  no  obliga- 
tion to  confine  himself  to  the  merely  com- 
monplace and  familiar,  because  the  major- 
ity of  people  understand  the  common- 
place and  that  alone.  In  a  Western 
paper  there  was  once  a  sarcastic  little 
review  of  Parleyings  in  which  the  writer 
expressed  considerable  disgust  because 
Browning  had  seen  fit  to  make  a  poem 
about  George  Bubb  Doddington.  '  Dod- 
dington,  Doddington  1  '  plaintively  ex- 
claimed the  reviewer.  '  Is  there  anybody 
who  knows  who  this  Doddington  was  ?  ' 
There  were  probably  very  few  at  the 
time.  But  however  dense  the  ignorance 
may  have  been,  it  was  considerably  les- 
sened as  the  weeks  passed  ;  for  there  was 
an  immediate  rush  on  the  part  of  the 
devout  to  post  up  upon  Doddington  ; 
while  in  the  book  shops,  second-hand 
copies  of  Lord  Melcombe's  diary  were 
dusted,  placed  on  a  conspicuous  shelf 
and  the  price  raised  twenty-five  per  cent. 


2S  a  jfcw  "CClorDs 

In  the  second  place  there  are  diffi- 
culties arising  from  the  profundity  of  the 
theme  under  discussion  in  a  particular 
poem.  Obscurity  from  this  source  may 
generally  be  referred  to  the  reader. 
Browning  was  emphatically  a  thinker, 
fond  of  knotty  problems,  skillful  in  deal- 
ing with  the  weightier  questions  that 
burden  the  soul.  He  writes  of  God,  of 
immortality.  He  studies  the  human  heart, 
the  conscience,  the  innermost  springs  of 
action.  In  such  poems  he  makes  upon  his 
readers,  demands  to  which  many  are  un- 
equal. He  requires  continuous  and  sus- 
tained thinking.  But  obscurity  which 
grows  out  of  the  reader's  incapacity  for 
hard  thinking  is  not  obscurity  at  all. 
Here,  for  example,  is  a  person  who  has 
been  in  the  habit  of  reading  nothing  more 
exacting  than  the  novels  of  James 
Fenimore  Cooper, — hand  him  a  copy  of 
the  Egoist,  and,  ten  to  one,  he  will  tell 
you  that  he  can't  read  it,  that  it  is 
difficult,    obscure.       Yonder   is    a    man 


on  IRobcrt  318cownlng  29 

whose  highest  climb  into  the  regions  of 
verse  has  been  to  that  vast  plateau 
where  bloom  such  flowers  of  poetry 
as  Gone  with  a  Handsojner  Mart ;  tell 
him  that  the  Epipsychidion  is  to  be  found 
well  up  the  mountain's. side  and  you  will 
hardly  tempt  him.  He  is  not  in  training 
for  such  a  climb.  It  is  plain,  then,  that 
many  people  who  call  Browning  'obscure' 
are  only  saying  in  another  way  that  their 
own  mental  equipment  is  inadequate  for 
the  demands  that  his  verse  makes. 

But  there  is  a  sort  of  obscurity  to  be 
met  with  in  Browning  for  which  the  poet 
is  wholly  responsible.  It  may  not  be 
correct  to  speak  of  it  as  verbal  obscurity, 
but  let  that  phrase  stand  for  an  attempt 
at  a  definition.  It  means  those  difficul- 
ties which  grow  out  of  mannerism,  both 
in  choice  of  words  and  in  style  ;  every- 
thing that  comes  from  a  singularity 
in  the  use  of  the  verbal  material  of 
verse.  Here  the  critics  are  often  right. 
Extraordinary  grammatical   puzzles  are 


30  a  3Few  "CClorDs 

to  be  met  with  on  many  a  page  of 
Browning.  The  man  wrote  a  language 
of  his  own.  It  is  called  English,  to  be 
sure,  but  it  is  not  even  second  cousin  to 
the  English  of  Addison,  or  Macaulay, 
of  DeQuincey,  or  of  Newman.  To 
enjoy  Browning's  books  one  must  learn 
his  language.  The  question,  of  course, 
is  whether  the  pleasure  to  be  had  from 
the  books  pays  for  the  trouble  of  master- 
ing the  tongue  in  which  the  books  are 
written.  Many  people  say  not.  Perhaps 
if  the  thought  is  worth  the  having, 
readers  ought  not  to  permit  themselves 
to  be  baffled  because  of  the  strange  garb 
in  which  the  thought  is  presented.  It 
would  seem  that  original  writers  must 
express  themselves  as  they  can,  and  not 
as  we  should  like  to  have  them.  The 
censors  of  literature  scolded  royally  about 
Carlyle's  style,  his  half-German,  half- 
English  jargon.  But  the  jargon  got 
itself  domesticated  in  time.  People 
hardly  even  wonder  at  it  now.     Then 


on  "Kobcrt  :»3ro\vn(nfl  31 

came  Browning  ;  he,  like  the  other, 
with  a  '  wind-in-the-orchard  style  that 
tumbled  down  here  and  there  an  appreci- 
able fruit  with  uncouth  bluster.'  There 
is  no  help  for  the  reader  but  to  take  this 
just  as  he  finds  it.  He  must  be  content 
to  see  '  learned  dictionary  words  giving  a 
hand  to  street-slang,  and  accents  falling 
upon  them  hap-hazard,  like  slant  rays 
from  driving  clouds.'  If  he  is  having  a 
hard  time,  he  must  extract  comfort  from 
the  thought  that  Browning  sympathizes 
with  him  in  his  struggles.  The  poet 
smiles  quizzically,  and  says  with  a  half- 
satiric,  half-earnest  tone  that  he  knows 
it 's  rough,  but  there  's  no  doubt  about 
its  being  wholesome.  If  the  lines  lack 
smoothness,  think  of  the  sense,  '  Ye 
gods,  the  weighty  sense.' 

It  is  a  question,  however,  whether 
there  were  not  times  in  which  Browning 
\vearied  of  this  praise  of  the  thought  in 
his  verse  at  the  expense  of  its  beauty, 
just   as  there  are  moments   in   which   a 


32  B  3few  'CClorOs 

plain  woman  finds  no  compensation  for 
her  excessive  plainness  in  overhearing 
people  say  apologetically,  *  But,  you 
know,  she's  very  intellectual.'  It  is  cer- 
tainly true  that  many  a  seeming  difficulty 
in  Browning's  verse  drops  away  when 
the  reader  has  familiarized  himself  with 
the  poet's  peculiar  mode  of  expression. 
It  is  also  true  that  he  has  given  us  a 
large  body  of  original  and  fascinating 
English  poetry,  which  may  be  read  and 
enjoyed  without  help  of  comment  or 
note. 


on  TRobert  JSrowntng  33 

III 

The  Verdict  of  the  Critical 

IN  a  letter  addressed  to  Lady  Violet 
Lebas,  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  com- 
mends her  '  undefeated  resolution  to 
admire  only  the  right  things,'  but  pro- 
fesses his  own  inability  to  accommodate 
his  taste  to  the  '  verdict  of  the  critical.' 
He  is  quite  content  to  admire  the  things 
which  nature  made  him  prefer.  Com- 
fortable is  the  doctrine  of  Mr.  Lang ; 
and  if  we  were  all  gifted  with  tastes  as 
discriminating,  we  should  be  doing  very 
well  in  casting  authority  to  the  winds. 
Many  of  us,  however,  are  incapacitated 
by  nature  and  training  to  judge  accu- 
rately what  is  and  what  is  not  the  admi- 
rable thing ;  and  we  must,  therefore, 
accept  with  becoming  meekness  the 
*  verdict  of  the  critical.' 


34  B  few  mor£)6 

The  verdict  to  which  Mr.  Lang  refers 
in  his  letter  is  that  settled  and  almost 
infallible  one  which  adepts  in  literature 
have  reached  after  most  serious  and 
long-continued  deliberation.  It  is  a  con- 
sensus of  the  best  judgment  ;  the  laity- 
are  expected  to  receive  it  without  a 
murmur. 

Another  and  more  modern  verdict  is 
by  no  means  unanimously  gracious  with 
respect  to  Robert  Browning,  The  parti- 
sans of  his  verse  sing  its  praises  some- 
what loudly  ;  but  the  detractors  are  wide 
awake,  and  thoroughly  cognizant  of  its 
defects.  These  hostile  critics  are  a 
worthy  folk,  and  serve  an  excellent  pur- 
pose in  acting  as  a  damper  to  check  the 
blazing  enthusiasm  of  all  who  have  gone 
Browning-mad. 

It  is  possible  to  be  sony  for  the 
individual  who  doesn  't  like  to  read 
Browning,  but  it  is  also  possible  not  to 
quarrel  with  him.  We  do  not  all  enjoy 
the  same  dishes,  the  same  pictures,  the 


on  IRobcrt  JBcowning  35 

same  music.  There  are  fellow-creatures 
who  object  to  olives,  and  who  see  no 
reason  for  the  existence  of  a  lobster- 
salad.  A  man  may  cherish  such  preju- 
dices while  he  stays  at  home,  but  when 
he  goes  abroad  he  cannot  take  his  non- 
conformity along.  He  must  eat  what  is 
set  before  him,  or  starve.  The  human 
stomach  has  shown  itself,  in  the  long 
run,  astonishingly  docile.  It  will  be  at 
peace  with  the  sustenance  it  finds,  on  no 
matter  what  social  desert  island. 

But  people's  literary  tastes  are  not  so 
well  trained.  Browning  is  unpalatable  to 
many,  and  try  how  they  will,  they  cannot 
relish  him.  Perhaps  the  readers  who  like 
him  least  are  those  accustomed  to  select 
their  poets  for  the  smoothly-flowing  line, 
and  for  an  exactness  of  rhythm.  With 
these  graces  Browning  is  able  to  adorn 
his  verse,  as  numerous  extracts  would 
show.  But  he  has  certainly  employed 
them  far  less  than  his  poetic  contempor- 
aries.    Nevertheless  is  he  a  poet,  though 


36  B  3few  TOorDs 

he  turns  off  at  right  angles  from  the 
broad  highway  of  conventional  form,  and 
makes  a  path  for  himself.  It  has  been 
imputed  to  Browning  for  a  want  of  right- 
eousness that  he  does  not  hesitate  to  be 
uncouth,  awkward,  abrupt,  unmusical, 
frightfully  involved  in  his  construction, 
much  given  to  intoxicating  his  verse  with 
parentheses, — which  is  true,  and  some- 
times painfully  true.  Yet  is  he  a  poet, 
with  these  sins  at  his  door.  In  this  pro- 
gressive day  the  boundaries  of  our  defini- 
tions of  poetiy  must  be  enlarged.  Much 
that  Dr.  Johnson  called  poetry,  is,  in  our 
eyes,  only  dull  and  respectable  verse  ; 
while  if  he,  in  turn,  could  be  questioned 
about  many  a  famous  poem  of  our  day, 
he  would  reply,  '  Sir,  it  is  the  raving  of  a 
disordered  imagination.'  But  if  we  grant 
him  his  dull  and  respectable  verse,  he 
must  not  be  harsh  at  the  expense  of  our 
favorite  ravings.  We  ought  to  be  liberal 
in  our  judgments  of  poetry.  We  should 
have  room  in  our  hearts  for  many  verses 


on  IRobert  JSrowning  37 

of  many  men.  '  The  kingdom  of  poesy 
hath  many  mansions.'  It  is  a  privilege 
to  be  allowed  to  wander  in  the  outer 
courts  of  them  all.  If  one  be  granted  an 
entrance  into  the  state  apartments  of  a  few, 
so  much  greater  the  privilege.  The 
Browning  '  fad  '  is  pernicious  wherever  it 
tends  chiefly  to  make  readers  of  Brown- 
ing, and  not  readers  of  all  good  poetry. 
This  little  volume  has  been  written  in  the 
hope  that  some  amiable  Philistine  may  be 
turned  from  his  false  gods,  and  led  to 
embrace  the  true  faith.  The  religion  here 
preached  is  a  sort  of  gospel  of  poetry, 
but  it  has  for  no  part  of  its  creed  the  doc- 
trine that  Browning  is  the  only  true 
prophet.  There  are  many  prophets,  and 
it  is  becoming  in  us  to  have  reverence 
unto  each.  Not  one  of  them  has  been 
without  his  hours  of  exaltation  in  which 
he  has  uttered  words  transcending  the 
earthly  and  the  fleeting. 

A  man  should  be  able  to  make  a  lit- 
erary   creed    for    himself    in    which    he 


\ 


38  H  3fcvv  TXlorOs 

declares  his  faith  in  all  the  best  poetry,  in 
Chaucer,  Spenser,  Shakespeare  and  Mil- 
ton, in  Wordsworth,  Shelley,  Keats  and 
Tennyson,  and  in  yet  other  poets  besides 
these.  How  is  culture  possible  without 
a  knowledge  of  the  great  authors,  with- 
out a  love  for  them  ?  Or  let  us  take  the 
lower  motive  and  say  that  it  is  a  part  of 
literary  good  breeding  to  read  and  enjoy 
the  best  poets.  We  may  say  that  we  do 
not  like  Milton.  But  in  truth  we  have  no 
business  not  to  like  Milton,  though  what 
poems  of  his  we  shall  like  the  best,  and 
how  great  the  intensity  of  our  liking  is  to 
be,  may  be  left  to  us  to  decide.  In  the 
simple  matter  of  liking  //  Pcnscroso, 
L Allegro  and  Lycidas  there  is  no  alterna- 
tive. Not  to  like  them  is  to  be  and  to 
acknowledge  oneself  a  barbarian.  So, 
too,  of  that  noble  poem  in  which  Shelley 
honors  the  memory  of  John  Keats — it  is 
a  thing  so  supremely  enjoyable  that  it 
would  have  a  thousand  readers  for  every 
one  that  it  now  has  were  it  not  that  most 


on  "Kobcct  :{6ro\vnin0  39 

people  are  lazily  content  to  get  their 
knowledge  of  poetry  by  proxy.  You 
may  hear  a  man  say  that  he  hasn't  time 
to  read  long  poems,  and  at  the  very 
instant  he  makes  the  remark  he  is 
engaged  in  taking  serenest  comfort  with 
the  five-hundred-and-forty-six  readable 
pages  of  Marcella.  If  it  were  merely  a 
question  of  time  he  could  read  the 
Adonais  twice  in  the  time  it  takes  to  read 
the  first  chapter  and  a  half  of  the  popu- 
lar novel.  It  is  clearly  not  a  question  ot 
time.  We  prefer  fiction  because  even  the 
thoughtful  novel  '  lulls  us  as  a  luxury.' 
In  reading  the  fine  poem  we  must,  as 
Thoreau  phrases  it,  '  stand  on  tip-toe  to 
read,'  and  this  means  effort. 

After  readers  have  learned  that  it  is 
worth  while  to  cut  down  a  little  on  fiction 
in  order  to  give  more  time  to  poetry,  at 
once  a  new  difficulty  arises.  People  find 
it  very  hard  to  be  catholic  in  their  attitude 
toward  poets  and  poetry.  They  are  as 
partisan    in    their    poetic    affinities    and 


40  21  3fcw  liflorOs 

repugnances  as  in  their  political  likes  and 
dislikes.  One  must  be  of  Paul,  another 
of  Apollas,  another  of  Cephas.  And  he 
who  enlists  himself  for  Paul,  can  see  no 
possible  good  in  the  other  two.  The 
most  uncomfortable  phase  of  the  Brown- 
ing agitation  was  that  it  led  to  the  saying 
of  intensely  depreciatory  things  about 
Tennyson.  James  Thomson,  author  of 
the  The  City  of  Dreadftd  Night,  cannot 
make  a  passing  allusion  to  Browning 
without  declaring  that  '  Tennyson  is 
immeasurably  inferior  to  Browning  in 
depth  and  scope  and  power  and  subtlety 
of  intellect.'  But  why  be  quite  so  vio- 
lent? It  is  possible  to  speak,  with  no 
uncertain  sound,  of  the  gifts  of  a  poet  one 
loves  without  assailing  the  gifts  of  a 
neighboring  poet. 

The  better  way  is  to  avoid  exclusive- 
ness  in  reading.  In  course  of  time  a 
reader  is  pretty  sure  to  settle  down  with 
a  few  good  things  of  a  few  first-rate 
authors  ;  but  it  is  a  pity  to  settle  before 


on  "Robert  JSrowning  4i 

one  has  made  long  journeys  in  the  repub- 
lic of  letters.  The  fact  that  a  man  greatly 
enjoys  the  Ode  on  the  bitiviations  of 
hnmortality  ought  not  to  preclude  his 
finding  pleasure  in  a  poem  as  unlike  it 
as  Rosserti's  Je?iny.  One  subject  may 
appeal  to  him  more  than  another;  but 
there  is  poetic  virtue  in  each  of  these 
widely  contrasting  poems,  and  it  is  this 
which  the  reader  should  hold  himself 
willing  to  recognize.  The  poetic  quality 
is  the  thing  which  he  is  bound  to  enjoy, 
wherever  he  finds  it.  Poets  are  closely 
related.  '  Many  the  songs  but  song  is 
one.' 

So  while  one  may  be  suspicious  of 
that  phase  of  literary  culture  which  finds 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  all  poetry 
in  Browning,  he  cannot  but  question  the 
judgment  of  the  critic  whose  verdict  is 
entirely  or  largely  antagonistic.  This 
verdict,  as  was  remarked  before,  gener- 
ally comes  from  those  who  find  in  per- 
fection of  form  the  only  true  criterion  of 


42  B  3few  TimorOs 

poetry.  A  man  may  take  Tennyson  as 
his  standard,  and  measure  every  other 
poet  by  certain  characteristics  of  Tenny- 
son's art.  He  may  say  that  all  is  poetry 
which  fulfills  these  conditions,  but  any- 
thing which  does  not  fulfill  them  is  at 
best  but  rhymed  prose.  This  will  not 
do.  The  boundaries  of  our  definitions 
must  be  made  liberal  enough  to  take  in  a 
great  variety  of  poetry,  even  the  most 
unconventional.  We  may  not  construct 
a  gilded  couch  of  Procrustes  which  fits 
Tennyson,  and  then  stretch  or  lop  off 
from  the  other  bards  in  order  to  adapt 
them  to  it.  Yet  a  certain  eminent  critic 
has  done  something  not  unlike  this  in  his 
published  estimate  of  Browning. 

Nor  is  it  right  to  overlook  the  simple 
mass  and  volume  of  Browning's  work. 
We  may  not  lament  the  existence  of 
these  more  than  two  thousand  pages  of 
closely  wrought,  highly  concentrated 
verse.  We  may  not  wish  that  Browning 
had  written   less,  thereby  implying  that 


on  IRobcrt  :ffiro\vninfl  43 

the  '  less  '  might  hav^e  been  better  done. 
I  like  to  think  that  what  Maurice  Thomp- 
son once  said  about  Shakespeare  has 
some  applicability'  to  Browning.  '  Quan- 
tity as  well  as  quality — when  the  quality 
is  always  high — goes  to  prove  great 
genius,'  says  Maurice  Thompson ;  and 
he  is  right.  In  thinking  of  Browning's 
genius,  one  may  no  more  leave  out  the 
idea  of  quantity,  than  in  thinking  of  the 
Cologne  Cathedral  he  may  leave  out  the 
idea  of  gigantic  size.  Browning's  power 
of  sustained  and  immense  effort  was  one 
of  the  most  splendid  of  his  gifts.  Many 
a  man  has  gathered  his  powers  together 
and  done  a  magnificent  thing  once. 
Browning  seemed  to  be  of  those  who 
could  do  a  magnificent  thing  not  once, 
but  many  times. 

Now  and  then  '  the  critical '  bring  in 
a  verdict  to  the  effect  that  Browning  is 
sometimes  wrong  and  often  unfortunate 
in  his  choice  of  subject.  This  is  only 
another  way  of  expressing  regret  that 


44  B  3fevv  "mHorOs 

the  poet  is  as  nature  made  him.  Admit- 
ting that  poets  are  liable  to  make  occa- 
sional mistakes,  it  is  generally  true  that  a 
man  works  upon  a  given  subject  because 
that  subject  fits  his  mind.  The  poet  and 
his  theme  are  made  for  one  another. 
The  critic  who  has  shown  most  clearly 
why  Browning's  intellect  is  adapted  to 
handling  the  grotesque  in  art,  has  also 
been  inclined  to  take  the  poet  to  task  for 
applying  his  powers  to  the  grotesque. 
He  uses  an  ugly  word  to  describe  Brown- 
ing's conception  of  Caliban,  though  it  is 
curious  to  note  that  any  Englishman 
would  use  precisely  the  same  word  to 
characterize  a  wet  day  or  an  uncomforta- 
ble journey.  If  Browning's  Caliban  is 
so  detestable,  and  the  poem  in  which  the 
creature  figures  so  repulsive,  readers  of 
to-day  are  not  so  conscious  of  it  as  Mr. 
Bagehot  was.  We  have  read  the  poem 
too  often.  Familiarity  has  bred,  not 
contempt,  but  complacency.  Still,  it 
would   seem    that   a    man    like    Walter 


on  "Kobert  asrowning  45 

Bagehot,  a  literary  critic  in  whose  work 
love  of  the  humorous  and  the  paradoxi- 
cal is  at  once  the  strongest  and  raciest 
flavor,  might  have  been  more  tolerant 
towards  his  brother  humorist,  Robert 
Browning.  It  was  hardly  just  to  say 
that  '  the  delineation  of  Caliban  will  show 
that  Mr.  Browning  does  not  wish  to  take 
undue  advantage  of  his  readers  by  a 
choice  of  nice  subjects.'  The  subject  is 
well  enough,  if  we  have  a  mind  to  it. 

Bagehot  can  '  mingle  praise  and 
blame ;'  and  if  the  praise  does  not 
come  beclouded  with  incense,  it  is  almost 
positive  enough  to  deceive  the  elect. 
Here  are  a  few  of  his  sentences  :  '  No 
'  one  ever  read  Browning  without  seeing 
'  not  only  his  great  ability,  but  his  great 
'  mind.  He  not  only  possesses  super- 
'  ficial  useable  talents,  but  the  strong 
'  something,  the  inner  secret  something, 
'  which  uses  them  and  controls  them  ;  he 
'  is  great  not  in  mere  accomplishments, 
*  but  in  himself.     He  has  applied  a  hard, 


46  21  ffevv  *CClorJ)0 

'  strong    intellect    to    real    life ;    he    has 

*  applied  the  same  intellect  to  the  prob- 
'  lems  of  his  age.  He  has  striven  to 
'  know  what  is :  he  has  endeavored  not 

*  to  be  cheated  by  counterfeits,  not  to  be 
'  infatuated  by  illusions.  His  heart  is  in 
'  what  he  says.  He  has  battered  his 
'  brain  against  his  creed  till  he  believes 
'it.' 


on  IRoDect  3i3ro\vntnfl  47 

IV 

A  Glimpse  of   the  Poet 

IX  was  the  writer's  good  fortune,  a  few 
years  ago,  to  meet  Robert  Browning 
at  St.  Moritz,  in  the  Engadine,  and  later 
at  his  home  in  Warwick  Crescent,  Lon- 
don. Not  a  httle  fortitude  is  needed  to 
confess  having  joined  that  vast  army  of 
Americans  who  took  advantage  of  the 
faintest  excuse  for  inflicting  themselves 
upon  the  great  man,  bothering  him  with 
questions  about  his  poetry,  taking  men- 
tal inventory  of  the  contents  of  his 
parlor  and  devouring  him  with  their 
eyes.  Perhaps  the  gods,  whose  special 
function  it  is  to  protect  distinguished 
authors  from  tourists,  will  forgive  this 
particular  sinner,  if  he  pleads  that  the 
temptation  was  very  great,  and  if  he 
promises  upon  his  honor  as  a   lover   of 


48  :a  few  IKIlorDs 

books  and   a   collector   of    Baskervilles, 
never  again  to  hunt  a  great  man. 

Mr.  Browning  was  short  and  stout, 
and  plainly  enough  the  original  of  his 
photographs.  His  face  was  ruddy,  his 
hair  very  Avhite,  his  manner  animated. 
He  was  noticeably  well  dressed  ,  there 
was  a  comfortable  and  easy  elegance 
about  him.  It  has  long  been  a  matter 
of  common  report  that  Browning  looked 
like  a  business  man,  rather  than  a  poet 
and  scholar.  He  might  have  been  a 
banker,  a  lawyer,  a  physician,  so  far  as 
his  appearance  w^as  concerned.  But  if  a 
physician,  certainly  a  well-to-do  one  ; 
if  a  lawyer,  then  a  lawyer  accustomed  to 
good  fees  ;  if  a  banker,  connected  with 
an  institution  which  is  not  going  to  give 
its  depositors  cause  for  anxiety.  But 
while  markedly  '  stylish,'  he  wore  his 
good  clothes  with  the  air  of  one  who 
had  never  worn  anything  else.  In  his 
youth  I  fancy  that  he  might  have  been 
something  of    a    dandv.     There  was  a 


on  IRobcrt  JBtownino  49 

pleasant  atmosphere  of  large  prosperity 
about  him. 

His  manner  was  simple,  kind,  cheery. 
He   made  one  feel  at  home,  and  time 
went    rapidly.       That    blessed    saint    of 
American  literature,  Henry  W.  Longfel- 
low, made  each   of   his  chance  visitors 
happy    by    his    cordial    and    unaffected 
manner.       But    Longfellow's    sweetness 
was    the  sweetness    of    resignation.     A 
young  woman  who  had  called  upon  him 
told  me  that  he  was  so  amiable  that  she 
felt   actually    guilty !      Browning,  fasci- 
nating hypocrite  that  he  was,  made  the 
stranger  feel  that  his  visit  was  not  only 
agreeable,  but  positively  opportune.     If 
visitors  stayed  longer  than  they  ought, 
the  fault  was  quite  as  much  his  as  theirs. 
He  should  have  known  that  many  of  the 
people  who  came  hundreds  of  miles  to 
see  him  were  not  in  their  right  minds 
when  that  privilege  was  vouchsafed  them. 
When  a  man  with   ever>'  indication 
of  sincerit>'  in  his  face  and  in  the  tones 


50  ;b  3few  XUorOs 

of  his  voice  says,  '  Come  and  see  me  at 
my  home  in  London,'  and  then  adds, 
'  I  mean  it,  I  ask  you  because  I  want 
you  to  come,' — how  can  one  refuse  to 
believe  that  the  invitation  is  as  hearty 
and  honest  as  it  seems  to  be  ?  Naturally, 
I  went,  the  time  for  the  call  having  been 
previously  arranged  by  letter.  My 
recollection  of  the  room  in  which  I 
found  Mr.  Browning  and  his  sister  is 
indistinct.  It  was  a  large  room,  irregu- 
lar in  shape,  and  was  upon  the  second 
floor.  There  was  a  grand  piano  stand- 
ing open  and  looking  as  though  it  had 
been  used  that  morning.  A  musician 
will  understand  this  look  to  which  I 
refer.  A  marble  bust  of  Mrs.  Browning 
was  a  conspicuous  object  in  the  room. 
Little  else  is  clear  to  me  now  with  res- 
pect to  furniture,  books  or  pictures. 

The  poet  was  as  hearty  and  cordial 
in  his  greeting  as  though  I  had  been 
somebody  whose  friendship  was  precious 
to    him.     This   generosity  in   giving   of 


on  IRobert  JBcownlng  51 

himself  has  made  many  people  love  the 
man  ;  but  it  has  also  given  the  point  for 
a  sneer  at  his  want  of  exclusiveness. 
The  writer  of  a  flashy  book  on  English 
society  holds  it  up  as  a  matter  of  re- 
proach to  Browning  that  he  was  so 
democratic ;  intimating  that  when  he 
couldn't  be  seen  at  the  tables  of  the 
great,  he  was  willing  to  be  a  guest  at  the 
tables  of  the  small,  and  that  when  he 
hadn't  a  lord  to  talk  with,  he  was  will- 
ing to  talk  with  a  very  common  com- 
moner. This  is  only  a  mis-reading  ol 
the  plain  and  wholesome  text  of  his  life. 
If  all  the  testimony  of  those  people  who 
knew  him  well  goes  to  prove  anything, 
it  is  this,  that  no  more  sensible,  matter- 
of-fact  and  amiable  gentleman  has  graced 
this  age  of  the  world.  Readers  of  his 
poetr}^  may  differ  by  whole  diameters 
with  respect  to  his  meaning,  his  style,  his 
merits  and  defects.  There  can  be  but  one 
opinion  as  to  his  life  and  character. 

A    talker    needs    the    inspiration    of 


52  a  3fcw  TMoxbe 

the  right  listener.  Browning  was  a  great 
converser,  but  it  was  not  to  be  expected 
that  he  would  talk  with  one  of  his  many 
chance  callers  as  he  would  have  talked 
with  a  brother  poet  or  an  intimate  friend. 
He  was  simple  and  unpretending  in  what 
he  said.  He  did  not  disdain  the  topic  of 
the  weather,  or  the  subject  of  hotels  in 
Italy.  He  impressed  one  most  forcibly 
as  being  a  man  who  never  posed,  and 
who  was  utterly  incapable  of  playing 
the  role  of  a  great  poet,  or  of  being  con- 
scious that  he  was  the  great  man  his 
admirers  believed  him  to  be.  A  few  of 
his  remarks  come  to  mind,  though  I 
made  no  memoranda  at  the  time,  and 
afterwards  tried  hard  to  persuade  myself 
that  I  had  not  been  hunting  a  Hon. 

Tennyson  was  spoken  of,  and  I 
remarked  how  inaccessible  he  was.  To 
which  Mr.  Browning  replied,  '  I  think 
that  Tennyson  likes  admiration  as  well  as 
anyone  else,  but  he  wants  his  admiration 
filtered.' 


V 


on  "Kobert  JSrowninfl  53 

Matthew  Arnold  was  at  that  time 
lecturing  in  America.  Browning  was 
curious  to  know  how  he  was  succeeding, 
and  inquired  minutely.  He  wondered  if 
'  Mat,'  as  he  called  him,  would  be  able 
to  make  himself  heard  in  a  large  hall. 
He  related  how  he  went  to  one  of  Mr, 
Arnold's  lectures  in  London,  and 
could  not  understand  him,  though 
sitting  at  no  great  distance  from  the 
platform.  Said  Browning  :  '  I  went  up 
to  him  afterwards  and  said,  "  Why,  Mat, 
we  can't  hear  you."  '  He  seemed  in- 
terested in  the  possible  financial  outcome 
of  Mr.  Arnold's  visit,  for  he  laughingly 
expressed  himself  as  glad  that  such  a 
countr}'  as  America  existed.  A  poor 
Eng-lish  man  of  letters  could  write  a 
lecture,  take  it  over  there,  and  bring 
home  a  pocketful  of  money. 

He  spoke  of  Mary  Anderson,  whom 
he  had  met  at  a  dinner  not  long  before, 
— sat  next  her  at  table,  I  think  he  said, — 


54  a  3few  imor5s 

and  pronounced  her  '  charming.*  He 
seemed  to  find  satisfaction  in  having  dis- 
covered that  she  was  a  very  '  sensible  ' 
young  woman. 

This  suggested  the  drama,  and  he 
began  at  once  to  inquire  minutely  about 
Lawrence  Barrett,  who  was  producing 
A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon — what  style  oi 
actor  was  he,  what  impression  was  the 
play  making  ?  He  evidently  wanted  an 
opinion  at  first  hand  from  some  one  who 
had  seen  the  performance.  Mr.  Barrett 
had  plentifully  supplied  him  with  news- 
paper reports. 

The  topic  of  American  novels  came 
up,  and  I  spoke  of  F.  Marion  Crawford 
and  George  W.  Cable.  He  had  heard 
of  neither  of  them,  and  said  :  '  I  wonder 
if  Crawford  is  the  son  of  my  old  friend 
Crawford,  the  sculptor  ?  '  I  begged  per- 
mission to  send  him  a  copy  of  Old  Creole 
Days,  and  to  indicate  a  story  which 
seemed  to  me  especially  powerful.     This 


en  TRobcrt  aSrowning  55 

I  did,  and  a  few  days  later  came  the 
following  note,  dated  from  Warwick 
Crescent. 


You  are  good  indeed.  I 
received  the  little  book,  and  have 
at  once  read  the  tale  you  recom- 
mended, and,  I  think,  recom- 
mended very  justly.  I  shall  read 
the  rest  with  every  expectation  of 
being  gratified. 

Ever  truly  yours, 

Robert  Browning. 


The  open  piano  caught  my  eyes, 
and  with  AM  Vogler  in  mind,  I  said,  '  I 
have  always  had  the  feeling,  from  read- 
ing your  poems  on  musical  subjects, 
that  you  were  a  piano  player,  Mr.  Brown- 
ing.' To  which  Miss  Browning  replied, 
quite  quickly,  '  Oh,  he  does  play.'  I 
had  hoped  that  he  would  talk  about 
music  ;  but  he  only  remarked  his  great 


56  21  3fc\v  "MorOs 

fondness  for  the  piano  sonatas  of  Beetho- 
ven, which,  he  said,  he  knew  '  by  heart.' 
One  could  hardly  understand  by  this  that 
he  had  them  at  the  ends  of  his  fingers, 
and  was  prepared  to  execute  any  one 
of  them,  when  he  should  be  so  minded  ; 
but  rather  that  he  '  knew  '  them  music- 
ally, as  the  perfectly  intelligent  and 
trained  listener  knows  them.  He  was, 
however,  able  to  judge  of  musical  com- 
positions by  playing  them,  and  it  would 
be  a  source  of  gratification  if  someone 
who  knew  him  would  tell  us  about  the 
extent  of  his  ability  in  this  direction. 
How  much  did  he  play  ?  Was  he  able, 
for  example,  to  execute  that  good  old 
family  piece,  the  Opus  1 3  of  Beethoven  ? 
Did  he  play  it  like  a  man,  or  like  a 
school-girl  ?  Could  he  play  the  so- 
called  '  Moonhght  '  Sonata,  or  the  No.  3 
of  Opus  3 1 ,  or  any  of  those  well-known 
works  which  form  the  indispensable  of  a 
pianist's  repertory  ?  On  the  other  hand, 
did   he  merely    '  read '    them    from    the 


on  IRobcrt  JBrowning  57 

notes,  playing  in  the  sense  in  which 
many  a  cultivated  musical  person  plays, 
not  pretending  to  go  into  detail,  nor 
striving  for  finish,  merely,  as  we  some- 
times say,  playing  to  amuse  oneself? 

If  the  person  who  shall  give  us  this 
information  is  also  able  to  speak  with 
authority  concerning  George  Eliot's 
musical  powers,  he  will  confer  a  favor  on 
many  interested  listeners  by  speaking. 
Strange  it  is  that  so  many  writers  who 
have  touched  her  career  at  various  points, 
have  also  shown  consummate  skill  in 
avoiding  this  one. 

Mr.  Browning  made  many  kind  refer- 
ences to  his  friends  and  readers  in  Amer- 
ica. Hardly  a  day  passed,  he  said,  in 
which  he  did  not  get  a  letter  from  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  He  had  had 
five  that  morning,  not  all  of  a  cheerful 
nature,  however.  One  was  from  a  man 
who  wanted  to  know  what  Browning 
*  really  and  truly '  thought  of  his  own 


58  B  3few  1IUor&0 

poetry ;  and  as  a  preliminary  to  getting 
at  that  inner  and  private  opinion,  he 
made  the  request  that  the  poet  would 
prepare  a  list  of  those  things  which  he 
himself  liked  best,  arranging  the  titles  in 
order  of  preference.  The  poet  seemed 
heartily  amused  at  this  idea  ;  but  it  was 
plain  to  see  that  the  only  attention  this 
letter  would  receive  had  been  already 
received,  in  the  shape  of  the  laugh  it 
called  forth. 

It  is  an  excellent  plan  for  an  inex- 
perienced hunter  of  celebrities  to  sit 
where  he  can  watch  the  clock.  He  will 
be  astonished  at  the  rapidity  with  which 
the  hands  move,  and  will  also  discover 
an  opportunity  for  a  new  application  of 
the  proverb  that  brevity  is  the  soul  of 
wit.  Other  things  being  equal,  when 
one  goes  to  see  a  great  man,  the  great 
man's  joy  of  the  visit  is  largely  deter- 
mined by  the  shortness  thereof. 

In  the  memory  of  the  visitor  who 
writes    these   lines,    the    little    visit   was 


on  IRobert  JSrowntng  59 

without  a  flaw ;  and  he  came  away  with 
the  feeling  that,  say  what  men  would, 
Robert  Browning  was  one  of  the  finest 
gentlemen  alive. 


60  H  3few  morOs 

V  . 

Conclusion 

THE  best  that  could  be  imagined  for 
a  romance  of  married  life  was  real- 
ized in  the  history  of  Robert  and  Eliza- 
beth Barrett  Browning.  Fiction  has 
much  which  charms,  but  fiction  contains 
nothing  so  perfect. 

The  world  with  an  eager  eye  for  dra- 
matic effect  likes  to  have  its  warriors  look 
very  military,  its  poets  exceedingly  poet- 
ical and  its  artists  altogether  '  artistic' 
The  world  is  much  of  the  opinion  of 
John  Ruskin  who  wishes  that  '  kings 
should  keep  their  crowns  upon  their 
heads,  and  bishops  their  crosiers  in  their 
hands.'  The  world  desires,  too,  that  a 
lover  shall  love  magnificently,  and  if  she 
whom  he  loves  dies,  shall  remain  faith- 
ful to  her  memory.  The  world  is  sur- 
prised when  this  happens,  but  none  the 


on  "Robert  :Bro\vning  61 

less  continues  to  wish  for  it  as  something 
not  hkely  to  happen  often. 

To  Elizabeth  Barrett  was  given  the 
power  of  calling  forth  most  ardent  per- 
sonal love  on  the  part  of  her  readers. 
She  lives  in  the  hearts  of  many  as  an 
ideal  of  womanhood.  In  some  instances 
her  memory  has  been  cherished  with  an 
intensity  which  bordered  on  passion. 
These  lovers  have  almost  invariably  been 
of  her  own  sex.  So  jealous  are  tliey  for  her 
perfect  fame,  that  the  faintest  shadow  upon 
it,  no  matter  how  remotely  derived, is  suffi- 
cient to  cause  them  anxiet}'-  and  alarm. 

Such  a  shadow  appeared,  from  time 
to  time,  in  the  rumors  that  Robert  Brown- 
ing was  about  to  marry  again.  Without 
meaning  to  imply  anything  derogatory 
of  second  marriages — which  are  often  so 
brilliantly  successful  that  a  nameless  cynic 
has  been  led  to  say  '  Ever)"  man  should 
marry  at  least  twice  ' — one  may  feel  that 
here  was  a  beautiful  love  storj'  brought 
to  an  idyllic  conclusion  by  virtue  of  the 


62  B  Sfcw  TlClorDs 

fact  that  no  second  marriage  took  place. 
Who,  after  reading  the  poem  entitled 
One  Word  More,  could  look  for  any  other 
ending  to  the  story  ?  If  the  memory  of 
Elizabeth  Barrett  is  so  precious  to  the 
readers  of  her  verse,  how  infinitely  prec- 
ious it  must  have  been  to  him  who  made 
this  sweet  woman -poet  his  wife.  He  has 
sung  his  devotion  to  her  in  lines  of 
matchless  splendor.  She,  in  the  Sonnets 
from  the  Portuguese ,  '  counts  the  ways ' 
in  which  she  loves,  promising  that,  if  it 
be  God's  will,  her  love  for  him  shall  grow 
still  deeper  and  stronger  after  she  is  taken 
from  him.  There  is  a  fine  satisfaction  to 
be  had  from  the  thought  that  in  all  the 
years  since  her  death,  he  was  no  less  the 
lover  than  when  he  wrote  of  her  as  '  half- 
angel  and  half-bird,  and  all  a  wonder  and 
a  wild  desire.' 

A  hundred  voluntary  tributes  have 
been  paid  to  the  beauty  of  Mrs.  Brown- 
ing's life  and  character.  One  of  the  best 
is  to  be  found  in  Thomas  Trollope's  book 


on  TRobcrt  :fi3rowntno  63 

of  his  memories  ;  it  is,  perhaps,  not  too 
familiar  for  quotation.  TroUope  was  a 
frequent  visitor  at  the  home  of  the  Brown- 
ings in  Florence.  '  I  was  conscious  even 
then,'  he  says,  '  of  coming  away  from 
those  visits  a  better  man,  with  higher 
aims  and  views.  And  pray,  reader, 
understand,  that  such  effect  was  not 
produced  by  any  talk  or  look  or  word 
of  the  nature  of  preaching,  or  anything 
approaching  to  it,  but  simply  by  the 
perception  and  appreciation  of  what 
Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  was  ;  of  the 
immaculate  purity  of  every  thought  that 
passed  through  her  pellucid  mind,  and 
the  indefeasible  nobility  of  her  every 
idea,  sentiment  and  opinion.  I  hope 
my  reader  is  not  so  much  the  slave  of 
conventional  phraseology  as  to  imagine 
that  I  use  the  word  "  purity  "  in  the 
above  sentence  in  its  restricted  and  one 
may  say  technical,  sense.  I  mean  the 
purity  of  the  upper  spiritual  atmosphere 
in    which    she    habitually    dwelt ;    the 


64  B  3Few  "OaorOs 

*  absolute  disseverance  of  her  moral  as 
'  well  as  her  intellectual  nature  from  all 

*  those  lower  thoughts  as  well  as  lower 
'  passions  which  smirch  the  human  soul. 
'  In  mind  and  heart  she  was  zvliitc — 
'  stainless.  This  is  what  I  mean  by 
'  purity.' 

It  has  been  the  fashion,  in  eveiy  age 
of  the  world,  for  the  pessimist  to  lift  up 
his  voice,  and  bewail  the  hardness  of  the 
times  in  which  he  lives,  to  declare  that 
women  are  no  longer  so  beautiful  nor 
men  so  knightly  as  they  once  were.  This 
is  the  expression  of  a  sort  of  drawing- 
room  pessimism,  not  very  serious  and 
not  at  all  dangerous.  But  if  one  were 
inclined  to  lament  what  seemed  to  be  an 
'  inhuman  dearth  of  noble  natures  '  he 
could  restore  his  faith  in  the  good  which 
is  in  humanity  by  reading  the  history  of 
Robert  and  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 
Each  had  genius,  but  of  each  it  may  be 
said  that  the  life  was  greater  than  the 
works. 


MiS0943 


i:: 


<^V 

•/'^f^" 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


